


Nightmares

by PhakeFysics



Series: Fallen Hero - Abyss/Anton [17]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 18:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20605277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhakeFysics/pseuds/PhakeFysics





	Nightmares

Rain pelts the bedroom window, settling Los Diablos into a humid haze of steam and heavy air. You're glad to be inside, hearing the air conditioning running smoothly, keeping you cool as you hug the pillow closer. All you can do is lie in bed… lie there and watch the rain pelt the dark window. 

You feel your eyelids grow heavy, the sound of the rain lulling you for once. Not a thought passed your mind and you felt your walls sliding down, ever so tiredly. Then like a crack of a whip, you jolt at the sudden flood. Memories, scattered, painful and loose tumble into your mind and you tense, the panic of the nightmare gripping you, choking you. 

_It hurts. Your body is in agony, and you watch Abyss loom over you, making your insides your outsides - laughing as they threaten to kill Anton-_

You pull yourself away, realizing what happened. A nightmare… you hear his soft whine and ragged breathing from the living room and you just bitterly hug the pillow closer.

_Get used to it, kid._

It’s all you can do to remind yourself to not care about him. He was here because… you let him? No it was his idea. He wants to protect you, wants to make sure you're safe. You assured him time and time again nothing would happen to you. He insisted. You didn't care anymore. 

His thoughts flit and jump in the darkness, everything halting at a clap of thunder. He grunts, sitting up, and ordains to hover from the couch instead of walk - makes everything hurt less. He insisted, as usual, and something told you to say yes. You're regretting it now, more than ever considering he was in your doorway, watching your 'sleeping' form.

His mind tiredly wobbles as he slowly hovers over, tired and weak. You don't move. You just watch the rain as it keeps you down and lulled. His boiling thoughts lower to a simmer and you blink tiredly, not in the mood to bark at him.

Your mind and body are too tired, too run down to fight right now. You're not thrilled and right now you're no more than a cat, idly flicking the tip of its tail in irritation. 

"Anton? You awake?" His voice is soft and barely a hushed whisper over the tapping of the rain. You deign to ignore him, maybe he'll go away. Maybe he'll think you're sound asleep and leave. You listen to his fluttering thoughts, your brow furrowing.

He looks over his shoulder at the darkness of the living room, where the nightmares sat in wait like a predator. He swallows, scared for a brief moment. Nightmares are never fun… he looks back at you, tracing the silhouette of your form under the covers, the way your hair is loose and sprawled across your back and covers, mingling in the dark shadows of the covers.

There go those wants again - to breathe you in, to hold you close.

The cat's tail flicks faster, it's ears beginning to pin back. It's going to start growling soon if he doesn't back off. But he isn’t inclined to give a shit about the cat right now and lowers himself into the open space on the bed.

You tense up at the shift of the mattress and the sudden warmth invading the intimate space under the covers. Worry amd relief mingle his surface thoughts like a nauseating cocktail and you’re forced to close your eyes and raise your walls again.

He doesn’t move closer to you, doesn’t press up against you, doesn’t even touch you, but you know he wants to. You’re patient enough to wait him out as the sheer comfort of your mattress has him giving a stiff groan at his back popping and sleep seems to quickly overtake him as his thoughts blur and haze into unconsciousness. 

Waiting a few more moments, you open your eyes again and move to sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, sitting there with your head in your hands. Being that close to him in such an intimate setting makes you anxious. Why are you so stupid as to let him this close? He was lying when he said he was scared and wanted to crash at your place. You didn’t even need to read his mind - his tells were subtle, but you knew how to pick them up; his averted gaze, the subtle twitch of his fingers, and the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed the guilt of the lie down.

He was, otherwise, very convincing and you were stuck - you couldn’t tell him no and look like a poor…. Friend? Sure, friend. But you also didn’t want to call him out… mostly because you didn’t want to hear the truth of it. He was scared _for you_. Scared that you would be hurt… or hurt yourself. Even in his half crippled state of recovery, he still had to be a hero… no, _your_ hero. 

But why? Why did he feel like he had to protect some deadbeat, washed up nobody? You could barely function, could barely take care of yourself, could barely keep your impulses at bay. It was so hard… just pretending to be alive. He already knew your more publicly-frowned upon vices. The things you did when you just wanted the pain to stop, to end. 

Why would someone like him - so young, in his prime, could have it all, DID have it all, stoop to some haggard, pale, thin shell of a man? Because you used to be some vigilante he enjoyed watching on the news feeds? Because you were just some cool gimmick character to the Rangers? You weren’t even real. You were a facsimile. Something meant to seem human, but was somehow wrong, somehow false. And he, like everyone else, had been tricked into believing the lie. The lie of your very existence. You weren’t real, you didn’t deserve to think so. You had done nothing to deserve any love and happiness. You were deviant, you were wrong, you deserve to be taken out back and shot like a rabid dog too far gone.

You barely notice the gentle warmth crawling up your spine until the hand rests where your neck and shoulder meet. You sit up from your slouch and glance over to see him sat up, the concern lining his face, even in the darkness. You sigh, looking back out the window, elbows resting on your knees. “Sorry if I woke you… I guess the couch got uncomfortable. You could have asked to switch,” your voice is hoarse, your throat dry. You’re tired and you want to die. 

The hand moves to rub your upper back and you tense, arcing away from the touch you want to lean into so keenly. You’re touch starved and you know it. You know it’s something you want, but it’s not something you deserve and it’s not something you can allow yourself the pleasure of. You have to isolate, to keep to yourself. It’s the only way the fires of revenge are stoked in you. To feel pitifully alone only helps keep you centered; keeps you focused.

He struggles with the covers a bit, but eventually slides to sit on the edge of the bed next to you, offering a smile, the hand on your back never leaving, despite you rolling your shoulders to shrug it off - it just moves off your shoulder blades to rest on the middle of your back. 

“Didn’t wake me… think the pain meds are wearing off. And no, the couch was fine, I just… had a nightmare,” he admits candidly, knowing better than to push a lock of hair behind your ear that his impulse screams at him to do. You hear him near audibly shut the mental thought out, like a steel door slamming shut. 

“Ah well… anyway, I’ll go to the couch then,” you move to get up, but there’s a hand wrapped around your wrist and you stop, looking back at him, “What?” you snap harder than you mean to. The hand tightens, not letting you go. 

“Why do you always do that?” He asks, the hurt clear in his voice.

“Do what?”

“Push me away? Push everyone away?”

“I don’t push,” you retort a bit too quickly and attempt to yank your wrist free. The hand is firm and strong, but not painful. He doesn’t tighten his grip, but he sure as hell isn’t letting you go.

“Yes. You do. You push everyone away. You isolate yourself and keep anyone from getting in. So I’m asking why.” His tone is a lot more firm than you’re used to and you find yourself hesitating.

“Because… I… I have my reasons, alright?” 

“No, you don’t. You have no reason to push people away like this. You push, deflect and avoid but I can see it in your eyes; you want so badly to be loved, but then bite any hand that offers affection. Do you really think you’re not worthy of love?” He says far too soberly, sounding older than he is.

Maybe you haven’t given him enough credit, maybe you’ve been too blind and stupid, maybe… he’s far more cunning than you gave him credit for. You stand there, not answering, the hand still around your wrist. You attempt a cursory yank, and just feel him pull you closer.

“Daniel, stop,” you protest, trying to sound intimidating, trying to put your foot down to make him listen… but it just comes out like pitiful begging; a soft plea into the darkness. 

“Why?” he asks flatly in a neutral monotone.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, feeling pitifully weak and frail. He’s caught you at your darkest, your most vulnerable. He’s deep into your vulnerability, prying you open to watch at all the hidden, broken, choking clockwork parts shuddering to keep you functioning by only a margin.

“Because I love you. I know you hate it, but I do. And you never ask my permission to my head, you just read my thoughts, call me out, or let me flounder with that look of yours. Why should I acquiesce to your demands when you don’t even give me the mental privacy? Why do you say ‘I hate you’ with your words, but say ‘I love you’ with your eyes?” 

“I don’t love you! I hate you! I hate you, Daniel. You’re an idiot! You are in the prime of your life, with everything you want and can ever dream of. Young, beautiful, powerful people want to be in your bed. You could use your smile to influence and control the highest powers to your will, and yet you sit here in some shitty apartment with some deadbeat wash-up that hates living every day of his life. You waste your precious time on me. I don’t deserve-”

“Yes you do. And I am my own man. I can love whoever I want. At first I was starstruck, relieved to see my childhood hero. But it’s just a name, a title, a mask. You never looked at me as Herald, the poster boy of the Rangers. You always look at me like some idiot kid from Boston who is too idealistic. Why am I not allowed to love a man who is funny and can run circles around Ortega’s witticisms, whose smile is infectious and his laugh intoxicating? Why am I not allowed to think of you as someone so beautiful and alluring, who pulls me back to earth so brutally that I’m winded, and I love it?”

You’re quiet and you can’t look at him, your throat bone dry, the tears brimming the edged of your vision. He’s quiet, waiting for you to answer and you have to find your voice.

“Because I’m… not what you think I am. Everything I do is an act… I pretend to be this person you love so much. It exhausts me every day to pretend that I’m somethi- someone I’m not. Deep down… I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel like a hollow shell of someone better, like I’m some sort of… mistake.” your voice is hoarse and you can barely get the words out as tears slide down your face. 

He sighs softly, gently but firmly pulling you back to the bed and further until you’re in his lap. You can’t put up a fight because you’re too tired, too without care. His arms are around you, pulling you into his chest and you’re stuck. Well, less stuck and more so you don’t want to leave. You want to fight, to yell, to punch him, but your shower gel smells too good on him and he’s too warm and inviting for his own damn good.

_There’s that hand again - plunging into the depths to haul your sorry ass into the boat. The predators circle boat, waiting for your drenched form to fall right back in. You don’t belong in the boat, you belong in the crushing dark, with them. They call your name, whispering promises of revenge, of victory, of achieving goals, of crushing everyone under your boot._

_The monsters yell now, agitated, telling you the lie you’ve so long believed to be true; you’re nothing. He hates you, they all do. You deserve to be hated, to be alone. But deep down, in the dark, they are your friends, they are the only ones who truly love you. Come back to them. Drown with them._

_But he drapes the blanket around your shivering, drenched form, offering a warm smile and safety. He’s just a humble fisherman, he says, just saw a soul drowning and in need of aid. But you know he’s much more than that. He’s a man dedicated to finding the drowning in the crushing ocean… only thing is, you’re the only one in it. And he knows it._

You curl against his chest for a bit and he moves so you both can lay on the bed. You’re against his chest, face pressed into the hollow of his throat and you have to actively keep yourself from pressing your lips against the soft skin as he throws the covers over both of you.

His arms are around you in a moments time and you feel a warm tingle start from the crown of your head - where he’s just kissed you - and flow throughout your whole body. So this is what a warm bed felt like? This is what it felt like to be safe? To be loved? 

Your mind hazes and you just hear his ‘_I love you_’ echo in your skull as sleep, finally, peacefully, gently takes you. 

You don’t have any nightmares that night.


End file.
